


We Were Here

by inoubliable



Series: Skin&Earth [6]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Boys Kissing, Eddie Kaspbrak FINALLY GETS WHAT HE WANTS, Eddie-centric, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, No Angst, OTP: Stan/sassiness, Pining, Realization, can I get a hallelujah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is fifteen years old. It's the first time he kisses Richie Tozier.--Eddie has a couple of options, here. He can pretend he didn't just realize what Richie has been trying to tell him the whole time. He can pretend like Richie is just being a jerk when he flirts and teases and taunts. He can pretend like they're just friends, and then they can stay just friends, and nothing will change.Or he can kiss Richie.He kisses Richie.





	We Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> "Photobooth, kissing youth.  
> Midnight bulletproof.  
> Nights so hazy, laidback, lazy.  
> Slow burn, fighting words,  
> show them how the fire works.  
> Make an impression, teach 'em all a lesson."  
> -[We Were Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5nvGu2V-7as), Lights

Eddie Kaspbrak is fifteen years old. 

It's summer. Not the first month, when the excitement is fresh, but well into the second, when the Losers have exhausted the quarry and the arcade and the Aladdin and are instead haunting the Barrens. It's too hot to move, and all of them are sprawled in a close-knit circle on the ground, except for Stan and Eddie, who share a blanket and sit carefully upon it, avoiding the dirt. 

"It's hot," Richie says, not for the first time. 

"If he says that _one more time_ ," Mike says, a vague threat, but he doesn't lift his head from where it's pillowed on Beverly's knee. 

"You're the one who wanted to come to the clubhouse," Eddie points out, looking down at Richie, who is lying beside him. Richie cracks an eye open to peer balefully back at him. 

"Yeah, because I thought it would be _fun_." 

"I'm ha-having fun," Bill murmurs, sounding very much like he might be falling asleep. He's beside Stan, their bodies not quite touching, but Stan had stroked a leaf out of his hair about twenty minutes ago and Bill had made such a happy noise at the attention that Stan hadn't stopped. 

"That's because you're getting some attention," Richie says back, squinting at Eddie like it's an accusation. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. "It's too hot to touch you, Richie." 

Richie smirks. "It would be pretty hot if you touched me." 

Stan looks up at the sky, sighing noisily. He might be praying. He might just be asking God "why me?" Either is equally likely. 

Eddie doesn't answer Richie, but he kicks his foot out, knocking him in the side. Richie makes a winded noise and catches Eddie's leg before he can pull it back, big hand around Eddie's skinny ankle. It's kind of ticklish, when Richie rubs his thumb over the bone, but it's also kind of nice. Eddie doesn't yank away, and Richie doesn't remove his hand. 

Despite the weather, they're all touching in some small way: Stan's hand in Bill's hair, Bill's legs thrown over Ben's lap. Ben is shoulder to shoulder with Beverly, who has Mike's head in her lap and Richie's across her ankles. Eddie lets his head fall against Stan's shoulder, completing the circle. They're all quiet for a few long seconds. The only sound is the wind in the trees, the rustle of leaves, and the babble of the stream. It's nice. It's peaceful. 

Richie's stomach growls, loudly. 

"Even Richie's _body_ can't be quiet for two minutes," Stan grumbles. 

"I'm a growing boy, Stanley," Richie says, patting his stomach, and it's true. Richie is the tallest of them by far, and he just won't stop shooting up. He's grown so fast that he looks a little gaunt, like his skin isn't big enough to fit all of him and has to stretch tight over his ribs and cheeks and hips. Eddie would be worried he's not eating enough, except the only thing Richie does more than talk is eat. 

"We should get pizza," Ben suggests. 

"If you're buying," Richie says. "I have about twenty cents to my name right now." Which isn't surprising. Richie does odd jobs, sometimes, like mows the yard for the little old lady at the end of his street, but he's notoriously terrible at budgeting, and his money is often gone as soon as he gets it. 

"I can't," Mike says. "My granddad is making dinner tonight." 

Stan just shakes his head, because making pizza a kosher meal when Richie likes extra pepperoni and Beverly loves sausage is a battle he does not often fight. 

Eddie unzips his bag and finds a granola bar, one sprinkled with little chocolate chips, the kind Richie likes best. He passes it over without a word. 

"Eddie Kaspbrak, you _sweetheart_ ," he says, high-pitched and swooning, almost a Voice but not quite. He tears into the package and eats ravenously, like it's been days since he's seen a meal, even though Eddie knows for a fact he had a bologna sandwich not an hour ago. Eddie crinkles his nose. 

"You look like a wild animal," he says. 

Richie swallows what's in his mouth and bares his teeth playfully. Eddie very carefully does not study the sharp point of his canine, the pink snarl of his lips. 

Eddie's watch beeps. Bill sits up, suddenly awake, like the noise was an alarm. 

"Wh-What t-time is it?" 

Eddie shows him the clock face. 5 o'clock. 

"Sh-sh- _shit_!" He scrambles to his feet. "I ha-have to b-be at work at 5:30!" 

Bill washes dishes at a little diner downtown. He likes it for the most part, because it keeps his hands occupied and he doesn't have to talk to people, and he's no longer living off of his allowance. The only downside is when it takes him away from his summer and his friends. 

Stan stands, too, brushing off his immaculate jeans. 

"I'll take you." Stan is the oldest of them, and has already started driving. His parents bought him a car for his birthday, a nice almost-new Buick, and Stan loves it. He washes it three times a week and vacuums the interior religiously, and he staunchly refuses to let Beverly or Richie ride inside, because their clothes always smell a little like smoke. In fact, he really only gives rides to Bill, who takes his shoes off and holds them in his lap whenever he gets in, and Eddie, who is never dirty enough to warrant Stan's concern. 

They leave together amidst a chorus of goodbyes. The remaining Losers lounge together for awhile, but eventually Ben stands, pulling Beverly to her feet. Mike and Ben and Bev leave as a unit, with Bev short and fiery-haired in the middle, her arms linked with a tall, broad man at either side. 

She kisses Richie's cheek before she goes, and then kisses Eddie's, and Eddie has the sudden stupid thought that she just connected them in some small way. 

Then it's just Richie and Eddie, lounging in the sunshine. 

It's just Richie and Eddie a lot, these days. 

Eddie doesn't mind, but he gets the feeling his friends are doing it on purpose. Just last week, he was supposed to go to the movies with Mike and Bill and Richie, but Mike had claimed he had too many chores and Bill had begged off sick, so Richie and Eddie went together and sat side-by-side in the dark mostly-empty theater, hands brushing in the popcorn bucket like some stupid cliché. 

Eddie's hand flexes even now, thinking about it. 

Richie rolls across the dirt suddenly, onto his stomach. Eddie jolts out of his thoughts. "Your clothes are going to be disgusting," he says. 

"I can take them off, if you like," Richie says immediately, like he knew exactly what Eddie was going to say before he said it. Eddie makes a face. He _would_ like, is the problem. 

He doesn't say anything, and Richie's short attention span snaps away from harassing Eddie. He reaches instead for a sharp stick lying on the ground a few inches away. It looks almost like someone has been whittling it to a point. Eddie would not be surprised if it was Richie's doing. He's both casually destructive and good with his hands. 

Eddie watches Richie's hands, then, watches him scratch something into the dirt. Richie has beautiful hands. He's grown into most of his body (except his teeth; his teeth are still overgrown and gigantic and Eddie loves them) but he's grown spectacularly well into his hands, which are huge and would dwarf Eddie's own. 

He blinks himself out of his daze and realizes Richie has written _Eddie_ into the dirt. 

Something about the way it's written makes Eddie sit up straight. He stares hard at the lines. They're straight and steady, like Richie took his time, and they remind him of something. 

Richie adds a plus sign underneath and starts to carve an _R_. 

It looks so _familiar_ , and not just from copying Richie's homework, not just from the little messages Richie scribbles in the margins of Eddie's notebook, not just from the casual notes Richie passes him that Eddie always keeps. 

_I – C – H_

There's something tugging at the back of his brain. He's reminded of the time, last year, that he broke his arm and had to be sedated. The morphine had clouded most of his memories of that day, but Richie had been there. He knows because Richie had told him so. He knows because he can suddenly picture it. Richie, leaning over his hospital bed. Richie, lips chapped underneath the stroke of Eddie's fingertips. Richie, eyes soft and dark and gorgeous. 

Richie, Richie, Richie. 

"Maybe someone is trying to tell you something," Richie had said. 

_I think you're the air, too_ , the note had said, in that same precise handwriting. 

_I – E_

"Richie," Eddie breathes. 

"That's my name," Richie says, examining his work, not realizing that Eddie is having an existential crisis barely a foot from him. 

Eddie has a couple of options, here. He can pretend he didn't just realize what Richie has been trying to tell him the whole time. He can pretend like Richie is just being a jerk when he flirts and teases and taunts. He can pretend like they're just friends, and then they can stay just friends, and nothing will change. 

Or he can kiss Richie. 

He kisses Richie. 

He's not even really sure it can be called a kiss, because Richie does not expect it, and in a way, neither does Eddie. Richie's mouth is almost perpetually open and that moment is no exception, so Eddie's teeth click against Richie's, and Richie makes a noise almost like he's in pain, but Eddie will die of embarrassment if he pulls away now, so he sinks his hands into Richie's hair and drags him close and doesn't stop. 

Richie's hands flex into his shirt, grasping, like he's floundering, like he needs something to ground him. Eddie hasn't kissed anyone since he was twelve. It's not all that different, really, but this is _Richie_. Eddie feels hot and cold all over, and he can't get close enough. Richie holds him just as desperately, tilting his head, slotting their mouths together at an angle that's so much better it's like they're fitting into place. Like this is where they were meant to be the whole time. 

Eddie doesn't want to pull away, because as soon as he does, Richie is going to say something and ruin it all, he's sure of it. But Eddie's chest is tight and the last thing he needs to do is have an asthma attack from kissing Richie (Richie would _never_ let him live it down) so he pulls away with a shuddering inhale, his lips wet and feeling bruised. Richie isn't much better off, red-mouthed and panting. His eyes are heavy-lidded. A swift shock of heat punches through Eddie, looking at him then. 

Richie doesn't say anything, which is even more surprising than the kiss. He's quiet for so long that Eddie almost wishes he would speak, even just to make fun of him, even just to ask him if he has actually lost his mind. 

But all Richie says is " _Finally_ ," a gravel-rough growl, and he drags Eddie back in. 

Eddie grasps at him, fisting his shirt, and Richie's arm goes around him but doesn't quite touch. Eddie realizes he's reaching behind Eddie's back, tugging the blanket closer, spreading it out so he can lay Eddie down onto it. Eddie is so touched and turned on that he makes a high noise in his throat, and Richie groans in return, his body a hot heavy weight, pressing Eddie into the soft blanket and the rough ground. 

"I think you're the air," Eddie murmurs into Richie's mouth, because he needs Richie to _get it_ , to get that he gets it. Richie goes still, then kisses him again, more intently, missing Eddie's mouth but not letting it stop him. He pushes kisses against Eddie's chin and cheeks, the corner of his mouth, the hollow of his throat, a reckless flurry of movement, exactly like what Eddie thought kissing Richie would be like. He was right. He was so right. "I think you're the air, Richie, I think you –" 

Richie shuts him up with another kiss, deep and searching, less frantic but hotter, somehow. Eddie's toes curl. He feels dizzy and desperate and like Richie will pull away and take all this feeling with him, like Eddie will never be able to feel this fervently again without Richie's mouth on him. 

Richie does pull away, then, but he stays right in Eddie's face, breathing Eddie's air. It's kind of gross – they're sharing breath and spit and Richie's mouth tastes a little bit like ash underneath chocolate granola. He thinks he maybe should hate it, should push Richie off and rinse his mouth out and take a round of antibiotics, but he's been waiting for this for so long that it overrides everything else. He can't think about anything other than Richie's dark, deep eyes and the heat he finds there. 

They don't talk about it, not even when the passion gives way and leaves them kissing slowly, steadily, like they're no longer making up for lost time but instead spending the time they have wisely. There's nothing to talk about, not really. Eddie Kaspbrak loves Richie Tozier, and Richie Tozier loves him back. It even says so, right there in the dirt, where Richie draws a heart around their names before they leave, leaning into one another, hands linked. 

Their names are still scratched into the ground when the Losers return to the Barrens a few days later. It's a dry summer, and there has been no rain to wash it away. No one mentions it (except Stan, who thanks God in both English and Hebrew) but no one has to. Richie and Eddie have not separated, their hands tangled together, Eddie between Richie's long legs, his back against Richie's chest. He can feel when Richie breathes, and he matches the rhythm. He thinks maybe their heartbeats are synced. He thinks maybe this is how he wants to spend the rest of his life. 

Richie kisses his hair, and he thinks maybe Richie agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY.  
> (This officially puts us halfway through the series, and officially makes this the most consistent thing I've ever written.)
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://namingtheruins.tumblr.com).


End file.
